


Hurry Home

by erintoknow



Series: my brain has claimed it's glory over me [6]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Guns, Help, Mugging, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Rescue, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, tough guy act
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 17:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20439521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erintoknow/pseuds/erintoknow
Summary: 2 AM in Los Diablos isn’t much different from 6 PM. The haze of streetlights defused into the smog taints the black in sickly yellows, reds, and greens. Crow pulls his arms tight against himself as he wanders down the street. No particular destination in mind. Sail the ship, onward ‘till morning. Normally this is Morrígan’s time to shine. It just makes more sense that way, a witch for the witching hour, when all the specters peer out from underneath their tombstones.Not tonight, not for a while. Morrígan needs to rest still. Dr. Mortum did a good job keeping the girl out of harm’s way but when you’re dealing with criminals you can’t afford even the pretension of weakness. Morrígan can take it easy until the worst of the bruising fades. She deserves it.





	Hurry Home

2 AM in Los Diablos isn’t much different from 6 PM. The haze of streetlights defused into the smog taints the black in sickly yellows, reds, and greens. Crow pulls his arms tight against himself as he wanders down the street. No particular destination in mind. Sail the ship, onward ‘till morning. Normally this is Morrígan’s time to shine. It just makes more sense that way, a witch for the witching hour, when all the specters peer out from underneath their tombstones.

Not tonight, not for a while. Morrígan needs to rest still. Dr. Mortum did a good job keeping the girl out of harm’s way but when you’re dealing with criminals you can’t afford even the pretension of weakness. Morrígan can take it easy until the worst of the bruising fades. She deserves it.

Not like Badb Catha– not like _you_. Keep your guard up, feelers out. Walking alone, at night, in the closest thing that passes for dark in this sad excuse for a city. There’s a man across the street, that’s been walking the same direction you’ve been for a whole block now. Telepathy assures he doesn’t think of you at all. But–

Sometimes you wonder if you’re suffering bleed-over from Morrígan. She may not have telepathy but she’s always taking count of everyone in sight-range. Assessing probable threats as best she can without the benefit of your talent. But the details that rank her concern… Some part of you, or of her-in-you is screaming the man is a threat. That you should speed up, detour away from him.

But– Crow is a man. Decently tall, more in shape everyday, with his telepathy, Crow shouldn’t have anything to fear from a scrawny twig of a dude. What’s he going to do? Pull a gun on you? Worst case Crow can just reach into the empty head and crush it down like a trash compactor. It wouldn’t even be hard. No training, no discipline–

“Spare a buck, lady?”

A hand on your shoulder pulls you off balance, yanking you sideways towards an alley between buildings. Trained reflex takes over, snapping the offending hand away as you step back and fall into a defensive stance. Adrenaline pumping, mind on full alert and– you squint through the gloom at the unshaven man standing were your telepathy insists there’s nothing and nobody. Strain harder, and catch the faint pop of static.

The man raises both hands up and backs away, back into the shadow. Static or no, how did you miss him? “Woah, easy there.”

“I’m no fuckin’ lady, hey?” Crow spits, narrowing his eyes in contempt. The nerve. The very idea. This guy would piss his pants if he knew he was talking to Macha. She’d bring an armored fist down and crush his head like a ripe grape.

“Yeah, I can uh, I can see that.” The mean looks down on Crow, mouth twitching down at the edges. He shakes his hand and before sliding it into the front pocket of his sweater. “Just looking for help, anything you can spare.”

“Bullshit.” Crow doesn’t relax, little alarm bells ringing in the back of his awareness at least two more minds nearby who are entirely too interested in what’s happening right now. Future trouble? With this guy? Separate? To early to tell. He’s the most dangerous. “How many beggars keep guns in their sweater vests, dumbass?”

The man’s face is full-on frown now. “No need for that, my man.” He’s taller than Crow, not a lot, but enough. How firm is his grip? How quick can he aim? Whatever’s about to happen, Crow should be fine. This guy is nothing that hasn’t been pasted countless times before. It’s just an open question on if Morrígan will need to go fishing for bullets this time.

Crow would, admittedly, prefer that not to be necessary.

“So you feeling charitable tonight?”

Crow rolls his eyes. “You’re not too bright, are ya?” It’s too late in the night for this game. There are places to aimlessly wander, there’s no time to pretend to be held up by a two-bit crook that can’t find the right end of a razor.

Crow snaps to the side, out of the estimated field of fire of whatever gun the man must be holding in his pocket. The sudden movement gets him by surprise. This isn’t part of the script. Yeah, will neither is yanking his arm back 90 degrees in the wrong direction until it makes a gross-ass popping noise. The would-be assailant screams and drops to the ground, a pistol falling out of his hand and scattering into the dark. A revolver? Doesn’t matter, not a factor now.

Kick the body in the stomach, and he groans. “Fuckin’ idiot.” Crow mutters, shaking his head. Well, they can’t all be Ortega. “Maybe think twice next time ya amadán, ya idiota, ya–”

A crack rings out off the walls and at the same time fire blooms in your leg below the knee. Shot? You’ve been shot? No grazed. Skinsuit under your clothes held up. This time anyway. Gonna be a hell of a bruise. Twist, keep yourself on your feet, feel for who– one of the two you noted as too interested earlier. She’s moving towards, you pissed mad. You fling up your arms, can’t risk another shot. Not until she’s in punching range. Damn your leg. Fuck.

“Get away from him!” She’s on full alert, pistol pointed at you, finger on the trigger. Hands aren’t steady. How much training has she had? “I said get the fuck away from him!”

You keep your hands up, take an agonizing shuffle back. Fight the urge to push up your glasses. “Ya know, back-up don’t mean shit if your on the other end of the block, right?” Reach in there, mind like razor blades. Can you shut it down before she pulls the trigger? Too tense.

Would the skinsuit hold up? What make is that pistol? You can’t tell in the gloom. She doesn’t know either. Charming. Idiots. Fools. Both of them. Siblings? Cute. ‘Bro’ wanted to try the nice way. Sis’ here knows the real score.

Find the floor, something to smash and bring her down quick.

“–I said empty your fucking pockets!” She jabs the gun in your direction. So much for protecting family. Can’t forget the crime, can we sweetheart?

“Can– can I put my arms down, hey?” Stall for time while you reach in there. This has to be subtle-like or the shock might get her to pull the trigger regardless.

She glares down the sight at you. If she did shoot, could you get Morrígan here in time? Would Morrígan even know where ‘here’ is? You slowly lower one arm. Don’t think about the gun. Pull one pocket inside out. Of course. You weren’t intending to go wandering. Not prepared. Think if you come clean about not having any money on you, the three of you can laugh this off as a hilarious misunderstanding?

No?

Think of another plan then.

Or, consider this: The beat of footsteps and something now way too familiar on the periphery pulls your attention upwards.

As she twirls through the air the phosphor light gets caught in her hair. A tangled mess of reflections, caught however many times before bouncing free? She brings her arm forward, down, pulled in on gravity’s tether and– oh, wait, shit, fuck–

Your leg screams in protest as you dive to the side just in time for Lady Argent to bisect the air between you and ‘Big Sis.’ A shot echoes off the walls blasting your eardrums and you have to clutch at your ears.“Fuckin’ hell! Are you _trying_ to kill me?”

Argent turns to you, looking none the worse the wear for having dropped from the roof of a three story building. She shakes out her arm like an etch-a-sketch as she takes in the scene. “I’m _trying_ to help you.”

“Holy _fuck_,” Sis is backing away from the scene, eyes darting between you and Lady Argent.

Argent watches the woman from the corner of her eye. “Street muggers? Not much of a challenge.”

“I had it handled.” You hiss. Now that you’re on the ground the idea of getting up and putting wait on your leg seems impossible. “Had them eating out of my hand.”

Argent tilts her head, looking down at you, paying absolutely no mind to the woman who had just shot at her. “Is that what the bullet hole is for, Catha?”

“Nah, just a graze, hey? Look, it’ll be fine.”

“Your bleeding.” Argent stresses the word. Why does she care? She doesn’t seem to know either. “You’ve been shot Crow.”

“Well, look.” You wince as you pull yourself into a sitting position. “Ya gonna arrest the bitch that did it, hey?”

That gets Argent to shift her focus to the sister, stepping over the still prone body of the first guy. You don’t think he’s actually out of it, if all the internal screaming you’re picking up means anything. Just as good, you guess.

Argent takes another step forward. The woman drops the gun to her side and books it. So much for family loyalty. You let her drop out of your awareness, her panic is putting you a little too on edge. You’ve got plenty of your own reasons to panic. Such as: Lady Argent wants to chase after the woman, but instead she turns to face you. She’s not impressed.

That’s fair, you concede. You aren’t impressed by you either.

“You need help.” It’s supposed to be a question, but coming out of her mouth it feels like a statement of fact.

You bark back a laugh. Wince as touch your injured leg. You still haven’t actually looked at. It’s not necessary. “You offering a piggyback ride Starshine?”

Her eyes narrow as she stares down at you. “Fuck off.” She tenses, fingers flexing. She wants to move in, can’t make up her mind. “I meant an ambulance.”

You shake your head. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Unlike like some people present, I’ve got bills to pay.” You grit your teeth. The pain a dull throb. As soon as you get back you’ll have to have Morrígan look at it. It’s just bruising, you’re sure. “What are you doing here anyway, hey?”

Argent shifts her stance, mouth wrenched in a tight frown. “What do you think I’m doing Crow, I’m on patrol.” You watch her facial expression, body language. There’s more to it then that, you’re sure. But what, exactly you can’t place. “What are _you_ doing out here.”

You cross your arms. “It’s a free country Starshine.”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“My statement is not any less true on accountin’ of the hour.” You shift your position, grit your teeth as you try to get up. “Ah– _fuck_!” Argent’s hand grabs your arm before you can fall back down. She pulls you to feet with a disturbing ease.

“You need to see a doctor.” She doesn’t let go of your arm.

You scrunch up your face, stare down at the asphalt. “Don’t you have a mugger to chase down?”

“Small fry like that don’t matter.”

“That so…” You take a breath, try to keep your hands from forming fists. “And I do now?” Why won’t she let go?

“I’ll never…” There’s a hesitation in her voice. That’s hardly like the Argent you know. “Ortega will give me hell if I just let you walk off like that.”

Enough is enough. you tug at your arm. She lets go. “What does Julia fucking care?”

Argent doesn’t mince words. “She’s still in love with you.”

Something in your chest twists, you rub at your eyes with one hand, push your glasses back up. “Well, hey, tell her she’s seven years too fucking late for that revelation.” You pull back from her mind, in on yourself. You don’t want to know. Focus on the pain. The pain in your leg. It’s just a dull throb now but that’s real. Your leg is real. Not like her, or this city, or the rest of you.

“Tell her yourself Crow. I’m not your go between.” She stands still. Doesn’t move after you as you hold yourself up against the wall.

“Then don’t act like one, hey?” You push off the wall. Test your leg, hurts like a motherfuck but you can do this. It’ll be a long walk, but you’ve done worse. Maybe you’ll jack a car from somewhere to cut down the distance. Or just a taxi?

Argent steps after you, grabs your arm again when you stagger. “If you’re not going to the hospital, then where are going?”

“Where do you think, Starshine?” You snarl, “Fucking home, hey?” She’s close. Too close. Just a skinsuit under clothes can’t protect you. Why is she pretending to care? Does she know? Is this pretense for revenge?

“And where’s home for you, Crow?” You glance up at her, she’s not looking at you. Scanning the area. Empty street. Dogs barking in the distance.

Fuck it. Whatever. If she murders you in your sleep, you can’t say you didn’t have it coming.

You gesture to the left, down the street. “This way. Bit of a walk. Think you can handle it?”


End file.
